


Heretic

by weishenbwi



Series: Hauntober [3]
Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Blasphemy, Christianity, Corruption, Creature Fic, Fear, Fire, Gen, Halloween, Haunting, Hauntober, Horror, Insanity, Kinktober 2020, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Mythical Beings & Creatures, October, Oneshot, Partial Mind Control, Psychological Horror, Scary, Short One Shot, Spooky, Suffering, Temporary Character Death, cosmic horror, future monster smut, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishenbwi/pseuds/weishenbwi
Summary: Mark gets more than what he bargained for on a spontaneous road trip. He should have stayed on the main road... Why did he trust a local map to show him a "shortcut". A short spooky Oneshot for Tumblrs "Hauntober".Read the tags. If it gets enough feedback, I'll flesh it out more... so to speak. 😉😱
Series: Hauntober [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956217
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Heretic

“I can’t believe I’m lost.” One unfortunate bump in the road because Mark just had to have his tea. Green tea of all things, he chides himself! And now he’s walking through the leaves in a dimly lit forest, lost, looking like a lumberjack thanks to Johnny’s insistence that he wear flannel, and that just makes him hate green tea even more. A bump in the road, no signal, and lost. Isn’t that how all horror movies start out? Mark thinks to himself with a shudder. Something off in the distance grabs his attention. It’s bright. A fire? A UFO? He chuckles to himself halfheartedly, the shiver still present. 

It's too far away to distinguish.

He walks closer.   
An hour passes. 

It’s getting darker but the object is more visible. A ring of fire in the shape of a circle, something tall and erect standing in the middle. Unmoving.

He walks closer.  
How long has it been? 15 minutes? 30 minutes? Another hour? He’s already so tired. _Why did you get off the main road?_ Because the local map said this was a shortcut. _Why didn’t you just use your phone Mark?_ Because I’m trying to conserve battery. His legs keep moving because that's all there’s left to do and he can’t remember what time it said when he looked at his phone last or what time it is now, but it doesn’t matter because something’s tied to a piece of wood in the center of the fire. It takes a few moments for it to register... “Something is tied to a piece of wood. Someone tied… Someone lit the fire.” 

He wasn’t alone.

“No Mark. Keep your calm. Keep cool. You’re fine. It’s fine.” Mark wasn’t known for being illogical. He’s an INFJ after all, something he secretly took pride in. The rare type, he thought, without allowing too much pride to take root in his heart. After all, he was a good Christian. And something-something Jesus’ example.

_Now don’t be a fool Mark. This is the middle of nowhere. NOTHING should be out here and you know it._ The cold gripped him more closely, caressing his fear with a void and amplifying it.

“Unless… unless we’re much closer to civilization than I thought.” Mark attempts to calm himself. That’s all, he thinks positively. He tries to think back on the map, the sky not providing enough light to see it clearly and his flashlight having gone dead. It was unbelievable, really. He knows he’d charged it before he left AND packed a spare but nothing was working here.

_“Isn’t that odd?”_ A voice quipped.

Ignoring whatever he thought he heard, Mark walks closer. It could be onset delirium. Stay calm.

_“Delirium? It’s only been a few hours. DON'T ignore me.”_

Just stay calm Mark. If there’s someone out here, he needs to be quiet. And actually, it’s a blessing that his flashlight stopped working because he would have used it and alerted anyone lurking of his presence.

He walks closer. More timidly now.

You shouldn't go further. Turn back now. An inner voice urges. Turn back before it's too late.

He walks closer, more quietly now, peering deeply as he hides behind a tree. To Mark’s horror, the piece of wood isn’t just a piece of wood erected. It’s a cross. Massive in height and heinously thick. Someone or some ones… because how could one person manage to construct a thing so freakishly large alone? No, not a thing. A cross burning in the middle of the woods and oh God, what is that?! “Oh God. Oh no…” Mark’s careful whispers trail off. It wasn’t just a cross. There, burning in the middle of that abhorrent monstrosity, was a body. It’s outstretched limbs strapped down, the creature thrashing against the wood and heat of the fire.

The smell of searing flesh reaching his senses. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“No…” He covers his ears and turns away. He’s not hearing anything. It’s no one. It’s no one. I’m just tired, only tired. He tries to breathe calmly. Don’t panic. He pinches himself. He can feel it. No, not a dream. Just tired.

And that’s when he hears them. Sounds coming from the fire. Chanting of some kind. But it’s no language he knows. The sound… guttural rasping like something long since dead awakened, unable to use its voice. _Learning_ how to use its voice. The unknown language and sinister whispers surrounding him, penetrating his mind and soul. This isn’t a dream. It’s a nightmare.

He looks back, toward the scene, like someone who keeps watching a horror movie when every instinct is telling them to look away, turn away. He tries to move but he can’t. Something is holding him in place. It knows, he thinks. It knows I’m here.

And that’s when he sees them. Someone is taking a vessel to each… person? Oh god… he’s not even sure they’re people. No, they CAN’T be people. They’re too tall, too thin, like wisps of fleshy tendrils under cloaks. Some of them as tall as the cross, their lengths reaching nearly to the trees. Fleshly and yet it was as if they were made of smoke, devoured and expelled from the fire. They were all suspended above the circle, quiet and seemingly unaware of his presence. Thank you, Lord, he prays to anyone and no one at all.

_Don't forget the body. Mark, open your eyes. It’s still burning. Are you going to leave it to die alone?_

It’s not possible, Mark thinks, head between knees and back against a tree, shivering and praying more earnestly than he’d ever prayed in his life. Without a word. Without a whisper. No whisper in case they hear him. Can they hear? Do they sense vibrations? Can they hear my heart beating? It sounds _so loud_. W-what if they can hear my thoughts… He tries not to think of anything but his mind is racing as fast as his heart and he’s rocking his body to wake up from this hellish nightmare.

But it’s no use. And it's as if they do hear this thought because the next assault to his senses is the sound of weeping and low groaning. A quiet echo in his ear. It’s not coming from the forms at the fire or the burning body somehow still thrashing against its binds. Mark buries his face into his legs, lips pressed to knees. He doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to open his eyes. The weeping comes closer. It’s no longer at his ear. It’s seeped inside him, sweet and sickly, bleeding out like maple from a tree. Mark shakes his head no as his eyes are forced open and his body is made to move forward, to the site where they gather.

_They drink it willingly.  
You’ll drink too._

Mark sees the body still struggling, arms still stretched to the brink. But it isn’t making noise and he doesn’t question how. "It's only a silent struggle." Mark thinks, his legs carrying him further, closer. His mind barely whispering for him to turn back.

He takes his place in the fire, not questioning why it doesn’t hurt.

The vessel bearer finishes serving each of the forms before finally stopping at Mark. It bends low, low to the ground. It’s presence, cold and eerie. 

The creature struggles less now, it's body barely jerking in intervals, giving up or out of energy. It doesn't matter, Mark reasons. The vessel bearer doesn't say anything, only motions for Mark to drink and Mark understands without a word to drink what's left.

As he drinks, Mark doesn't wonder what kind of liquid it is. Water, tea, blood, or some other substance. It doesn’t matter. He doesn't wonder anything at all. His mind long since gone silent, retreating to the far recesses inside.

It tastes oddly metallic, Mark thinks, as the creature struggles its last moment bound to the wooden cross, flesh blackened and reeking. The vessel bearer stays in front of Mark, it’s appendage reaching toward the now inanimate creature, cutting off a piece of its flesh and offering as a gift to all in the circle. 

Mark swallows everything he's given.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to incorporate more of Mark's Christianity and more about the monsters and the burning creature, flesh it out a little bit more. But I need motivation in the form of comments and not many people read horror on ao3. 👀 If it does get feedback, I'll up the creepy factor a lot. I take requests for this story.😌🙌


End file.
